Page 18

“The wolf is not afraid of the storm, for she is the storm.” — unknown

Gwen

“For fuck’s sake, Gwen, move.” Wulf holds out his arm, but I’m not quite ready.

“Coming.” After I toss the microscope and the magnifying glass out the window, I duck under the safe’s hinged door.

We’ve made it halfway down the stairs when Dr. James Lewis steps into view. “Don’t move.”

Behind him, six men point automatic rifles at my husband’s chest. Unlike some of the GI Joe wannabes, the physiques on this dirty half-dozen scream professional soldier. They wear Kevlar. Their utility belts contain pistols, knives, grenades, loops of tie wraps, C4, and a whole lot of other dangerous shit.

Frozen, in fear of being cut in two, I mutter the periodic table backward under my breath. “Oganesson, Tennessine, Livermorium, Moscovium…”

“It’ll be okay, babe.” Lowering his weapon to the ground, Axel steps in front of me.

Meanwhile, a gargantuan warrior with a scar on his chin climbs the stairs. A step below us, he levels his gaze at my wolf. “Made a huge mistake, dude.”

Unintimidated, my grinning husband bares his incisors. “Remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”

Lewis, now at the top landing, faces everyone. “What’re you waiting for? An engraved invitation? Get up here. Now.”

As we ascend to the top landing, James squeals at an octave more suited to a thirteen-year-old girl. “What the fuck did you do?”

Trying not to laugh, I ignore my husband's stifled chuckle and dig my fingernails into my palm.

By the time we reach the office door, the cult leader has regained some of his composure. “You there, pick up those bills.”

The man standing behind us scowls. His long beard sways in the breeze when he squats to gather the money off the blue industrial-tile carpet squares.

Lewis shoves his head inside the safe, pulls out the black velvet case, and dumps a dozen or so diamonds on the desk. As he stuffs them back in the bag, he stares at the shiny square on the desktop.

“Where is it?” He studies Axel’s poker face, then mine, which I’m told is transparent.

Grabbing me by the hair, he drags me behind the bureau. “I know you took it.”

His body wreaks of garlic-laced fear, which gives me courage. “Not sure what you’re referring to.” And that’s the truth. Does he mean the missing microscope or the data dot?

“Bitch.” An adder-like hand strikes out. The palm to my cheek hits so hard, my head swivels from the impact.

Through my tear-clouded vision, I recognize my husband’s deadly glower. “You will die for what you did.”

Oh shit, things are escalating way too fast.

“Strip her.” Lewis rips the front of my blouse.

Axel roars, breaks free of his guards, and puts the gung-ho leader in a chokehold.

One of the men pulls a pistol from his holster, points it at my head, and says to my husband, “Let him go.”

During this standoff, I venture a glance out the back window. The paper airplane I made from the bill is stuck high up in a fir tree beyond the barbed-wire fence.

When I turn my head, a uniformed woman enters the room and announces, “The spa ladies have escaped.”

She screams. Gunfire erupts. Windows explode. Before my brain can register what is happening, Axel launches across the room and takes me to the floor.

Face down, blanketed by his heavy body, I pray he’s not hurt. Two heartbeats later, the bullets stop.

“Door. Hug the ground. Go.” He pushes me away from the drywall smoke, then shoves my ass toward the exit, but it’s too late. A wall of camo-dressed bodies blocks our way.

If I never see that green jungle pattern again, it will be too soon.